Today as I was convalescing on the couch, I began to think about desserts. Crazy I know. But, with Thanksgiving next week and Christmas coming, its just that time of year. I've been rummaging through cookbooks, and while laying around daydreaming, have come up with all sorts of new ideas. More than that ideas of what to make, memories are brought to the forefront of days gone by.
Big Gram was a tremendous cook. People raved about her food, and hunters would hire her to make them soups to take on a hunt with them. She was incredible. Her cooking wasn't anything fancy nor gourmet, but simple tasty down home goodness. Desserts weren't her specialty and she did "ok" with them. But the memories I have of her and her desserts are hilarious!!
One of my very first memories of a dessert incident with her was when she tried to serve me "chocolate pudding". She had such an ornery streak in her and it was always followed by a twinkle in her eye, and a little giggle, that on some days I can still hear as if she was sitting next to me.
Being German, she liked to make Swatsaur. It was a desgusting German dish made of cow blood and organ meat. Grampa would cut up the meat to perfection and she would put it all together. From my little memory of it, it was vinegar, blood, and meat. ICK. It marinated for days and when it was done it was a dark brown. All of my dad's siblings loved it, but the next generation was just not a fan. She thought she'd be real funny, and serve it to me in a little dessert bowl and tell me it was chocolate pudding. I don't remember how old I was but for sure, under 8. I took a bite of that stuff, and she watched me with her eagle twinkling eye. The ole taste buds said OH NO - NOT IN HERE YOU DON'T!!!!! That stuff was horrid!! She laughed and laughed and giggled and giggled, and then told me to drink my milk before it got cold!!!!! Even as a little girl being tricked, I loved her laugh, and waited with eager anticipation for the next trick she would play.
Later on, as she aged and the grocery store modernized cooking, she served us a banana cream pie. Grampa always cut and served the pie, and that particular night he was struggling to get the knife thru the crust to serve. Gram had purchased a ready made graham cracker crust, and somehow failed to take out the plastic lining that covered the crust. Grampa sawed thru it and served the first piece. It wasn't until someone tried to take a bite that it was discovered. OH did she giggle!!!!!
While desserts weren't her specialty, she never let that stop her from putting her best foot forward usually with success, but always up for a good giggle at her mistakes. She had big 50 lb containers of flour and sugar, and made bread like a mad woman. Her food was always an extension of herself. To be able to serve someone food, and nourish them, was the highlight of her day. Watching her stand at the stove, kneed bread or serve up a plate, was like watching a painter take a brush to a canvas. Memories of that have been burned in my brain, and seered on my heart.
I hold in my possession several of her aprons. When she passed, my dad asked me if there was anything of hers that I would like to have. The only thing I asked for was a few of her aprons. To touch them, look at them and hold them close to my heart, takes me back to that kitchen where I sat so many days watching her create her masterpiece that she would serve those she loved. The aprons I have were not laundered before she died. They still have the kleenex in the pockets, and the safety pins that served as the buttons. There are huge grease spatters, and evidences of a meal or two on them. There are spots where I can tell she wiped her hands, and they smell. Oh, they smell like her. Still to this day, when I open the bag that holds them safe, and I take them out and put them up against my face, I smell her. The tears run, and the heart aches, but I smile. I loved her, and I get to say that I was one of the fortunates in this world that had the blessing of experiencing unconditional love. Not only did I love her - she loved me. She loved me when I was late. She loved me when I was early. She loved me when I didn't come around, and she loved me when I planted myself there and kinda forgot to leave. She loved me when I said stupid stuff and she loved me when I spoke with intelligence. She loved me when I was loveable, but she also loved me when I was unlovable too. It never changed. I always knew she loved me no matter what.
While I don't wear aprons it is my hope that my grands, in their adulthood, remember me that way. I want to love them so much that their shortcomings and my expectations of them pale in comparison. I want them to remember me by my laughter, and simple things like tricks or songs or other little moments we share that may seem so insignificant to me (or them) at the moment.
This week I'm making apple pie. I have some frozen store bought shells with a plastic lining. You can bet yourself that anytime I see a pie shell, or make one for that matter, she comes to mind. So if in the process of pie preparation my ADD brain gets the best of me, I may be found in my room holding a little white bag filled with old stained aprons, taking a trip down memory lane. I'm sure there will be a tear stained cheek, but accompanied by a smile,and a most grateful heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment